Monday, May 30, 2011
RAOK
Random Acts of Kindness.
(I still have tons to talk about, but this is, yet again, a place-holder post so that you know I'm not dead. Yet.)
So when's the last time you did something nice for someone? For absolutely no reason?
I'm as guilty as the next rabbit of focusing on myself and my family.
I pay my bills, I do my work, I feed my family, bla bla bla. All important things but I often forget to do the "nice" things while taking care of the practical stuff that seems to dog me day and night.
So today I went out front of the house and wiped some bird shit off a total stranger's car.
That stuff's acidic and it'll eat your paint if you don't get it off quickly.
They'll never know who did it ... in fact they might be pissed off when they get outside to take the car to work and find wipe marks on their hood and bumper; some total jerk touched their car!
But I did it, and I may have helped save their paint job. I saved them from having to clean it off, themselves, if nothing else.
It cost me one glove (I always wear gloves when I'm doing something ooky) and about five squares of paper towel.
It doesn't cost a lot to help someone out.
So ... what are you going to do today? Pass it on :)
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Misconceptions
I've been spending a lot of time on Facebook these days. I apparently have an addictive personality and the FB, I am addicted to it.
A lot of the communication is short blurbs, comments and so on, but now and again someone posts a long note that is of ... well, of note. As it were.
My friend Ramona posted this the other day.
It made me think. A lot. I'm hoping it makes you think also.
My response to it was as follows:
"I read your article about "Perfection" ... and then had it brought home to me by a specific example today. I locked the keys in the car, managed to get home, and had to go talk to our new property managers to try to get into the house. While we were walking over to my townhouse, I said something about having to clean, air out and paint the unit they are moving into at the end of the month, as the previous managers were heavy smokers and smoked indoors.
I had always been intimidated by the wife (she could be quite an unpleasant person) because when I went to pay rent, apart from the stink, her kitchen was always SPOTLESS, with even the canisters scrubbed. Mine usually has splats on top of the stove and we won't talk about the rest of the house.
Well ... the new manager told me that the place was so filthy it was insane. There was even cat shit in the corner of one of the bedrooms. Apparently the kitchen was the only room that was ever cleaned.
Now, my house certainly needs work still, and I have far too much crap. But it's not literally CRAP."
It's so easy to gather misconceptions, isn't it?
Thursday, May 19, 2011
And Now, I Kiss You Goodbye
No, I'm not quitting blogging (despite evidence to the contrary). This is a post that I wrote a week ago, to say goodbye to a friend of mine.
And then Blogger wouldn't let me post, the BASTARD.
And then I got busy and I feel terrible about it. I have many things to say however this is the most urgent, because I need to say goodbye to her.
I have two friends ... well, no, I have more than two (really I do, shut up). But these two friends, Leslie and Elaine, are very special to me.
These ladies have been together for years. They came up here to Canadia to get married (seeing we're all about the gay marrying up here) and tied the knot years ago in the gorgeous flower garden at Park and Tilford, just down the street from where I live (as in 25 minutes' walk, even when you hobble, as I do, like an old bat).
I met them online ... I'm not sure where or how. Through knitting blogs (I used to have a blog. You may have heard about it), mutual friends, that sort of thing.
Years ago, before we'd even met, on my birthday they sent me some beautiful New Zealand roving in my favourite colours, to help me celebrate, and some amazing organic chocolate with raspberries and rosehips in it.
I was incredibly touched.
The first time I met them in person, they graciously invited me to stay in their home. When we got in the door they asked me to sit on the couch, and said that they had rather enthusiastic dogs. I said I didn't have a problem with dogs. Then Elaine said "OK, are you ready?" I said "sure" and ... well ... supposedly she opened a door but I'm still not convinced of that. Dogs started emanating from the walls. No, seriously Right Out of the Fucking Walls. There were thousands of them and all of them wanted to sit on me, sniff me and smooch on me.
I'm like candy to dogs.
No really, if you have a dog and I come to your house, even if the dog doesn't like people he or she will be sitting on top of my head within six minutes. I think it's because I'm mostly made of bacon.
And after all of these giant dogs (two were Greyhounds, we're not talking a flock of chihuahuas here) got over trying to kiss me and sit on me and somehow oh my fucking god just get spit ALL OVER ME and live in my PANTS (it was Brody, who is not a greyhound, who was mostly about the getting in my pockets and becoming part of me) and they had sort of calmed down a bit, the most special dog came over to see if she would approve of me or not.
Kiska was a purebred West Boloshnian Flugenschnitzel (I'm likely off on the breed, but it's close). She was about 12 inches high, two feet long, and had a tongue hinged in the middle of her body somewhere. I'm thinking she might have been part aardvark. She walked up and looked at me and then hopped up next to me and wrapped her tongue around my neck about three times (I may perhaps be indulging in a little exaggeration here, but I have NEVER met a dog with a longer tongue). Apparently I'd met the requirements and was allowed to stay.
The last time I visited them I slept in their guest room on their beautiful new bed with the lovely new sheets. Piewacket, the little cat who had come to stay with them when my beloved Simon (a cat who I used to sit up and read to all night ... and with whom I sometimes surfed the net for porn) passed on, came into the room and killed spiders for me. He killed many. He killed one spider on the wall about ten times. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was just a mark on the paint and that I wasn't scared of spiders in the first place. After Pie finally calmed down, Kiska decided to do a walkabout and came to my room. She hopped on the bed and floofed about a bit, wrapped her tongue three or four times around my neck, cuddled down beside me for half an hour or so and then went back to sleep with her beloved Leslie.
I loved that dog a whole lot.
And you'll likely notice that I'm using the past tense here.
Kiska left us on May 11th.
My heart hurts; but I'm so glad I had the opportunity to know her. I treasure the time I spent with her, and am glad I met her approval. She was a lovely soul and I will miss her.
Godspeed, little Wienerfloofle.
And then Blogger wouldn't let me post, the BASTARD.
And then I got busy and I feel terrible about it. I have many things to say however this is the most urgent, because I need to say goodbye to her.
I have two friends ... well, no, I have more than two (really I do, shut up). But these two friends, Leslie and Elaine, are very special to me.
These ladies have been together for years. They came up here to Canadia to get married (seeing we're all about the gay marrying up here) and tied the knot years ago in the gorgeous flower garden at Park and Tilford, just down the street from where I live (as in 25 minutes' walk, even when you hobble, as I do, like an old bat).
I met them online ... I'm not sure where or how. Through knitting blogs (I used to have a blog. You may have heard about it), mutual friends, that sort of thing.
Years ago, before we'd even met, on my birthday they sent me some beautiful New Zealand roving in my favourite colours, to help me celebrate, and some amazing organic chocolate with raspberries and rosehips in it.
I was incredibly touched.
The first time I met them in person, they graciously invited me to stay in their home. When we got in the door they asked me to sit on the couch, and said that they had rather enthusiastic dogs. I said I didn't have a problem with dogs. Then Elaine said "OK, are you ready?" I said "sure" and ... well ... supposedly she opened a door but I'm still not convinced of that. Dogs started emanating from the walls. No, seriously Right Out of the Fucking Walls. There were thousands of them and all of them wanted to sit on me, sniff me and smooch on me.
I'm like candy to dogs.
No really, if you have a dog and I come to your house, even if the dog doesn't like people he or she will be sitting on top of my head within six minutes. I think it's because I'm mostly made of bacon.
And after all of these giant dogs (two were Greyhounds, we're not talking a flock of chihuahuas here) got over trying to kiss me and sit on me and somehow oh my fucking god just get spit ALL OVER ME and live in my PANTS (it was Brody, who is not a greyhound, who was mostly about the getting in my pockets and becoming part of me) and they had sort of calmed down a bit, the most special dog came over to see if she would approve of me or not.
Kiska was a purebred West Boloshnian Flugenschnitzel (I'm likely off on the breed, but it's close). She was about 12 inches high, two feet long, and had a tongue hinged in the middle of her body somewhere. I'm thinking she might have been part aardvark. She walked up and looked at me and then hopped up next to me and wrapped her tongue around my neck about three times (I may perhaps be indulging in a little exaggeration here, but I have NEVER met a dog with a longer tongue). Apparently I'd met the requirements and was allowed to stay.
The last time I visited them I slept in their guest room on their beautiful new bed with the lovely new sheets. Piewacket, the little cat who had come to stay with them when my beloved Simon (a cat who I used to sit up and read to all night ... and with whom I sometimes surfed the net for porn) passed on, came into the room and killed spiders for me. He killed many. He killed one spider on the wall about ten times. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was just a mark on the paint and that I wasn't scared of spiders in the first place. After Pie finally calmed down, Kiska decided to do a walkabout and came to my room. She hopped on the bed and floofed about a bit, wrapped her tongue three or four times around my neck, cuddled down beside me for half an hour or so and then went back to sleep with her beloved Leslie.
I loved that dog a whole lot.
And you'll likely notice that I'm using the past tense here.
Kiska left us on May 11th.
My heart hurts; but I'm so glad I had the opportunity to know her. I treasure the time I spent with her, and am glad I met her approval. She was a lovely soul and I will miss her.
Godspeed, little Wienerfloofle.
